


Fortunate Ones

by shadhahvar, Tundra_Kitsune



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, White Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 04:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18087125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tundra_Kitsune/pseuds/Tundra_Kitsune
Summary: Yuuri found the perfect White Day gift for Victor, only for them both to be surprised at how things change overnight. Nobody expects the winged acquisition...





	Fortunate Ones

**Author's Note:**

> Got to work with the amazing Fuyu (Tundra_Kitsune) on this White Day Mini Bang. Her art is beyond adorable, make sure to check it out! [Find her on DeviantArt](https://www.deviantart.com/fuyusfox)!

The golden egg glowed in the candlelight, standing upright on three ornate, curved, equally golden legs. Delicate lines of gold wire curved over the egg’s surface, ending in sprays of forget me nots made from clusters of five blue gems set around a golden center. The ring of gold that circled the egg a finger’s width below its center was styled as an intricate braided knot, but no matter how cleverly handled, the egg would not crack open to reveal the surprise that waited inside.

“It’s never been opened?”

The shopkeep shook her head, bells clamped to the end of her multitudes of braids tinkling with the motion. “No, not since it was created. I don’t know if it was ever meant to open, really.” She turned her palms up, lips pulling up into a faint smile. “Some mysteries aren’t meant to be solved.”

Yuuri regarded the egg, light twinkling in his eyes, lips parting. He spoke without considering his words, reaching out to cup the egg carefully in his palms. “I’ll take it.” Those forget me nots, an imperfect shade of blue incomparable to Victor’s eyes, still reminded him of the man he loved more than the world. 

Caught up in his thoughts, he watched the shopkeep pack the egg away with care, cradling the box against his chest the whole way home, through each transfer station until he stood once more in the chill spring air of Saint Petersburg, a week before March fourteenth.  
White Day. He was finally ready.

—

Victor smiled, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, showing fine lines that would only become more enchanting as the years passed. Yuuri kept himself from leaning forward to press a kiss to them, all but squirming where he sat, watching Victor.

Victor teased him without so much as a shred of remorse, carefully unwrapping the box and preserving the paper in the process. His gaze fell on Yuuri as he complimented the colour of the ribbon, then the design on the wrapping paper, until he held up the box and turned it around in his hands. “What could possibly be inside?” he said, casting a sidelong look toward Yuuri in the asking.

Yuuri snorted, reaching out to tap the top of the box, lifting an eyebrow. “One way to find out,” he said, lips twitching in response to the grin that quirked Victor’s lips up at the corners.

“Oh? I suppose that’s true.” Victor contemplated the box, setting it in his lap before using his nail to pry up the tape holding the top closed. 

Yuuri leaned in, watching Victor push the top back, revealing white tissue paper packed inside. The crinkling as he plucked the tissue paper out caught Makkachin’s attention, her head canting to the side, stepping forward to nose at Victor’s hand.

Usually he’d laugh, pat her head and set the tissue paper down with an amused warning. Now he stared at the golden top of the ornate metal egg nested inside the rest of the tissue paper lined box, lips parting in surprise. “Is this…?” He lifted the egg out, holding it in his hands. Light reflected off the gold filigree depicting the flower stalks and leaves, leaving the gemstone petals twinkling.

“I know we don’t really do flowers,” Yuuri said, though they hadn’t talked about flowers one way or another, “But I thought this would be nice. They’re forget me nots.” He smiled, slow, tipping his chin down and studying Victor’s hands. He had beautiful, elegant hands, long and fine boned fingers, all subtly calloused with the marks of a master duelist. The strength in those hands was a strength he knew, had known even before he and Victor had a proper conversation.  
Yuuri swallowed, gaze flicking to Victor’s face. Was this the right choice?

Victor’s face settled into the kind of neutral lines when thinking without holding regard for the people who might be watching. Strange how such impassiveness, even lending toward severity, touched Yuuri even more than the mild, pleasant expression Victor wore when quiet in public. 

“I love them.” Victor reached for Yuuri, or perhaps Yuuri reached for him first, rough pads of career worn fingertips brushing over cheeks, over temples, tucking strands of hair behind ears. They kissed without fanfare, chapped lips against softer lips, and Victor leaned back with a faint grimace, eyebrows quirking up.

“Come here, you,” Victor said, and while the egg sat untouched and magnificent on the table, they disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Makkachin behind.

She sighed and pawed at the door, once, twice, before turning away, tip-tapping her way across wood floors toward the worn blue dog bed by the sofa. She paused to sniff at the egg, nose not quite touching its golden surface. She pulled her head back and sneezed, shaking off the sensation starting with her head, traveling down the length of her body. Makkachin refused to look at the egg again as she went to her bed, circling twice and then settling down with a huff and a singular wag of her tail.

The magic which flittered past her later wasn’t remarkable; two passionate men in their prime who were both talented in the magical arts attracted ambient magic even without outside stimulus. Wards on their flat kept them from disrupting others, or being likewise disrupted, leaving Makkachin to endure the fur-raising sensation, alternately warm and electrifying in its excitement.

No one accounted for the egg as the night stretched on. Close to midnight, Makkachin’s ears perked at the muffled scratching sounds issuing from the egg, her head lifting when the egg rocked on its three legs, small at first, then larger and larger. She jerked back and ran away when the egg toppled over, shying away from the crash on the table. The scrabbling and the cracking that followed was accompanied by chirps and growls and whines. Makkachin peered around the corner of the sofa to spy the source of the noises, taking in the small, golden bodied creature that lay sprawled half out of the egg. The hardened beak-like structure on its nose was wet and glistening from residual egg fluids, its toothy maw opening to latch onto the jagged edge of the shell still half ensconcing its body.

Makkachin blinked, moving closer in cautious increments, until her chin rested on the table and the golden bodied creature craned its head around to stare at her in turn. It cheeped; Makkachin huffed, and that was that.

Come morning, Victor was up and awake, shuffling into the kitchen while hiding a yawn behind the back of his raised hand. He filled the electric kettle, rummaging for mugs and the loose leaf tea as the water hissed and hummed and boiled. The dog bowl in the corner remained empty, like the kitchen remained empty of dog. Victor stared at the empty bowl, brow furrowing, tapping a finger on the counter.

“Makkachin?”

He edged out of the kitchen, looking into the main living space where her dog bed lay. There she was, flopped on her side with her head half off the bed and her eyes open. She blinked lazily at Victor, the thump of her wagging tail dulled by the fabric it crashed against. She wuffed, partially sitting up, then turned her head away, sniffing at something he didn’t see.

“You’re not hungry?”

Makkachin ignored him, sniffing harder before issuing a singular, curious boof.

Victor frowned, throwing a glance back at the kettle. The water was still boiling. He looked back toward is dog, shuffling toward her, crouching down to run his hand over her poll. Her tail thumped against the bed again, encouraging. She even turned her head toward Victor, licking his arm, before pointedly looking at her belly fur, grunting.

Her fur shivered, a glint of gold catching Victor’s eye. He reached out, intending to probe along her stomach, but even as he pressed his fingers into his fur, a golden head thrust out to stare up at him, mouth open to reveal white, pointed teeth.

The reptilian head with its two nub horns and ridges along its center line hissed up at him, breaking off into a yawn. Makkachin started panting, her tongue lolling out of her mouth, leaving Victor to stare down at the small animal wiggling free from where it had been curled up against Makkachin’s stomach.

“Yuuri,” he said, refusing to look away, “Makkachin has a dragon baby.”

Yuuri didn’t respond, the bedroom dark and comfortable through the glimpse afforded by the near-closed door. Makkachin and the dragon both looked up to Victor, mouths open. Only one panted, and the other one started keening, a high, distressed kind of whining.  
“You sound hungry.”

“Scree!”

“I have no idea what to feed you.”

“Scree!”

“...” He hefted himself upward, shuffling back toward the bedroom. When he emerged again, grumbling noises could be heard from further in the dark room, and he had his phone out and ready, searching for answers.

WHAT DO BABY DRAGONS EAT?

Top search results included answers such as “stone,” “metal,” “you out of house and home,” along with “miniature ponies” and “virgin daiquiris.” Most answers were ridiculous, leaving it to trial and error to find a working answer as the distressed noises continued unceasing, the dragon starting to sound like it was crying with a now mewling sound. Makkachin whined and tried comforting the dragon through repeated grooming, which the dragon tolerated for a time.  
By the time Yuuri tumbled out of the bedroom with his hair tousled and the back of his hand trying to disguise his yawning, the dragon was curled around Victor’s neck, gnawing on a spoon. With a wrinkled muzzle and narrowed eyes, the dragon bit into the spoon, pausing after each nibble to masticate and stick out its tongue, displeased.

Yuuri blinked, lifting his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I’m seeing things,” he said, the announcement met by a chuckle from Victor.

“Like gold?”

“Victor, there’s a dragon on your shoulder. Eating a spoon.”

“Yes.”

“I’m seeing things.”

“Reality,” Victor said, tone grave even while he smiled, “Is markedly stranger than fiction. I woke up this morning to find a dragon sleeping in Makkachin’s belly fur, and this.” He lifted his hand, a ring of gnawed metal and three curving feet attached clenched between his thumb and forefinger. He held it out to Yuuri.

Yuuri shuffled closer, eyeing the dragon the whole time. He hesitated before plucking the metal ring out of Victor’s fingers, turning it over in his hands. He traced a finger over the tooth marks marring the surface, noting much of the gold plating had been gnawed off.

“What am I looking at?”

“My best guess? That’s what’s left of your White Day present.”

Yuuri stared at Victor, mouth opening, no words coming out. His eyes widened in increments, going from staring in shock to wide eyed surprise. “Wait, where did it go?!”

Victor raised his eyebrows, eyes flicking down to the top of the dragon’s head where it was doggedly attempting to devour more of the spoon.

Yuuri looked to the dragon as well. “No.”

“Mm.”

“That makes no sense!”

“No, not really.”

“How can a faberge egg be a dragon egg?”

“No idea, but you must admit, this little star is a beautiful mix of gold and that wonderful teal from the egg.”

“I… what?”

Victor brought his free hand up and stroked the top of the dragon’s head, the drag of his finger slow from the top of its head down over the top of its neck. The dragon paused in its attack on the spoon, leaning in to the caress, tail tightening around Victor’s throat. Then it resumed biting pieces off the spoon with its loud, exaggerated crunchings.

While golden hided, teal markings followed along its spine in the same shade of the precious stones that had been the petals of the forget me nots on the egg’s surface. 

Yuuri stared at the impossible dragon, closing his mouth. When he stepped closer, his feet didn’t drag as much as before. Reaching out to the dragon, he paused for the little creature to sniff his outstretched fingers. The dragon nibbled on one digit, its press of teeth sharp enough to indent skin without breaking. Yuuri yanked his hand back, flinching away. 

“Ouch!”

The dragon flinched back against Victor’s neck in turn, small wings jutting out and flapping while small clawed feet raked over Victor’s shirt, dragging the material down.

Victor stroked the dragon’s back, talking to them in Russian, his voice low and melodic. He coaxed the dragon into relaxing while Yuuri apologised, flailing his hands and sitting down on the sofa, staring up at Victor with a downcast expression.

“What are we going to do?” 

“You know,” Victor said, switching to English, “Raise ourselves a dragon, I suppose.”

“Do we have the spoons for that?” Yuuri stared at the remains of the spoon in Victor’s hand.

“Honestly, seeing how this little one tried eating my ring earlier, I think any metal will do.”

Yuuri lowered his head into his hands. “The dragon tried eating your ring?”

“Yep! Didn’t get far, but be careful, little gold will probably try eating yours too!”

Victor’s cheerful tone pulled a groan out of Yuuri, before he lapsed into laughing, lifting his face out of his hands and giving Victor a fond look.

“Only us,” he said, and he was met by a soft smile from Victor.

“Only us. Now, thinking about names…”

So their family of three grew into a family of four, and none of their medals were ever safe again.


End file.
